


Some Kind of Strange

by SGreenD



Category: Justified
Genre: Brave New World - Freeform, Gen, Nineteen Eighty-Four, outsider's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 18:41:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SGreenD/pseuds/SGreenD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Oh Brave New World that has such people in it."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Danny Duris is a loner, and he doesn't get along with most people. He just likes to read. And then one day he meets this guy with the big, toothy grin and the Harlan accent and the SKIN tattoo on his fingers, and he knows exactly who he is and can't help being drawn to him. At Mr. K's.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>An outsider's take on Boyd Crowder and his unique ability to pull people in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Kind of Strange

**Author's Note:**

> Now this story is just something that popped into my mind after I'd watched the movie "Persécution" (which was horrible) and saw Romain Duris in it and for some odd reason, just immediately pictured him as a part of Boyd's gang. I made Danny slightly younger than he was in the movie because it fit better: A young guy who went to prison and didn't really deserve it, who's lost all his friends and family to it and who hates his life, but is also intelligent - that kinda guy is likely to follow Boyd because he looks up to him, in desperate need of a father figure in his life.  
> Also a bunch of literary references. Me, I'm not that big on Utopian Fiction, I had to read it for school. But I imagine Boyd would be, and then it kinda just went from there.

Some Kind of Strange

 

 

Daniel Duris, 28 years old, sat on the floor in front of the Utopian and Science Fiction shelf in his favorite book store, Mr. K's, in Oak Ridge, Tennessee, and thumbed through a very old and thoroughly used edition of "Nineteen-Eighty-four" by George Orwell. He stopped when he read something at the end of a page. "The Hate continued exactly as before, except that the target had been changed."

It got a wry smile out of him. True, he thought. That sounds kinda familiar.

Daniel was born and raised in Oliver Springs, Tennessee, a fifteen-minute-drive from Mr. K's in Oak Ridge, the closest book store he knew of. As soon as he was old enough to take the bus, and later when he was old enough to drive a car, he started coming here every day of the week to look for new books. He mostly couldn't afford to buy them, but nobody minded it here when he sat on the floor and read for two hours.

His parents were proud of him when he brought good grades home, but otherwise Daniel pretty much raised himself. He learned the value of self-educating very early on. You never ceased learning in this world, just, some lessons were harder than others.

Like when Daniel suddenly saw that strange guy follow him around at all times. The first few times he thought he was just seeing things. Then he wasn't sure. Then he actually saw the guy everywhere. Then, one day, the guy climbed through his window when Daniel wasn't there and lay down in Daniel's bed, naked, waiting for him to come home. Daniel did come home, and he was so shocked he got his old baseball bat and beat the guy to shit before throwing him out on the street.

It was really bad luck that the guy actually had the balls to go get a lawyer and press charges against Daniel Duris. And his parents stopped being proud of him when he was sent to the South Central Correctional Facility in Clifton for five years.

When Daniel got out of jail after two years, he'd lost all of his friends (who'd been only few to begin with), and his parents had disowned him (like there would have actually been anything he could have inherited), and he'd lost his job and his flat with the broken window.

The lesson to observe his surroundings was indeed a hard lesson to learn, but it was one that stuck with him. Had Daniel been a better observer, he would have spotted the guy earlier, he would have been sure earlier, he could have gone to the police before that shit with the window and the bed happened, and he would still have friends and a better job and a family that still acknowledged his existence. It would have been a better life all around.

At first Daniel hated the guy who did this to him. Then he stopped hating him and started hating himself instead. It didn't make THAT much of a difference; he just hated the guy who ruined his life. The hate stayed the same, only the target had changed.

"You know what I like about utopian fictions the most?"

Daniel didn't flinch. He'd sensed someone coming from behind. He'd learned to observe those things.

"No. What?" he asked, looking up at the stranger.

"That they're always just a shadow of the real world and you can spot the differences and point out to yourself exactly why the world that you live in is so much better."

The stranger grinned at him, a wide, sincere, toothy grin, and Daniel knew exactly who he was.

He'd never met Boyd Crowder in person, but he'd heard a lot about him. When he was still sitting in South Central, some guy was transferred in from Blackburn who'd known and worked with the whole Crowder clan and had quite a few stories to tell, and he'd told anyone who was willing to listen. Apparently Bo Crowder was Harlan County's answer to The Godfather, and his older son Boyd was a crazy-ass Nazi who liked to rob banks.

Now, Daniel was not a Nazi. His father's parents had immigrated from France, and he'd always been presented with a great cultural ambivalence when he was a child. He'd liked listening to his grandma Antoinette talk in this strange foreign language, and when some bald guy with heavy boots called her names when they went grocery shopping together, Daniel didn't understand what that was all about. He understood later, of course. He'd been horrified to know that there were people who hated other people solely because of where they came from and how they looked.

Grandma Antoinette was the first person to make the suggestion of disowning him when Daniel went to prison. No one had ever told him, but he had a hunch.

Now Daniel's thoughts on the matter differed a little. He thought that if a Nazi wanted to be a goddamned Nazi, he was entitled to wanting that. What did it matter to him? As long as he could tell who was a Nazi and who was not, and he could because he'd learned to observe, all was well. A Nazi could be a Nazi his whole life, and he could live with it, too. If only they didn't express it that explicitly to the world! Daniel thought that was just stupidity and poor planning. If you made the conscious decision to become a Nazi, you had to be conscious of what it entailed: Social exclusion, for one thing. Close statutory observation, for another.

So for Daniel, all people who openly presented themselves as Nazis to the world were pretty much dumbasses. He could see the SKIN tattoo on Crowder's right hand where it was hanging loosely at his side.

The thing was, Boyd Crowder did not strike him as a dumbass. He looked exactly like he'd been described to Daniel by the guy from Blackburn: Skinny, with black hair that stood out to all sides, and huge, lively eyes. What the guy hadn't mentioned was how intelligent those eyes looked, how sharp. It was a little disconcerting, truth be told. And Daniel had thought that nothing could disconcert him anymore.

Daniel stared at Boyd Crowder until Boyd's grin relaxed into a smile and he stepped forward to look at the shelf.

"Something wrong there, son?" he asked.

"I know who you are." Daniel said.

"Do you now." He didn't even sound surprised.

"Yeah. You're Boyd Crowder."

"That I am." Crowder pulled a book from the shelf and looked at it; Daniel couldn't see what it was. "May I ask how you know me when I have no idea who you are? I thought that Tennessee was far enough from home that I'd be able to go buy some books unchallenged for once."

Daniel shrugged. "I hear things."

Crowder smiled again at that. "That sounds about right. Heard me coming. You ain't someone easily surprised."

Daniel looked down at the old book in his hands. He didn't answer that.

"So you like to read?" Crowder asked. He seemed hell-bent on a conversation now.

"Yeah."

"Utopian fiction especially?"

"Not especially."

"But you thought you should give it a try. Wise decision, my friend. That's a fantastic book you got there."

"Yeah."

"You read it yet?"

"No."

"You ain't much of a talker, I can tell."

"Not really."

"Then I'm certain your talents lie elsewhere."

Daniel frowned. Crowder put the book he'd pulled out back on the shelf and crouched down to his level. "I know what you think now, you don't even have to talk to me if you don't want to, your expression says it all. You're thinkin', what the hell does he know? Am I right?"

He looked at Daniel with those sharp eyes, as if he was actually waiting for an answer to this question that he didn't need an answer to, so Daniel offered a non-committal shrug.

"But I can tell where your talents lie, son. You're careful, you have everyone close enough to do you harm in view, and nobody can even tell. That about right?"

Again the question that he didn't need an answer to. That Crowder guy wanted him to talk, even when he didn't have to actually say anything. Daniel kinda liked that. He wasn't much of a talker, that much was true. Most people didn't know how to deal with that. They either talked to him like he was a wall, not even expecting him to show any sign of recognition that there was a conversation happening, or they didn't talk to him at all.

This time he offered a small nod.

Crowder smiled at that. "Those skills can come in handy, especially in prison. You ever done time, son?"

"South Central. Two years."

"I presume that's where you heard of me?"

Nod.

"What was it exactly that you heard of me, if I may ask?"

"You's a bank-robbin' Nazi-ass."

"Nah, that shit's water under the bridge now, son. Right now I'm just runnin' a bar with my cousin Johnny and tryin' to, uh, make ends meet."

Daniel heeded Crowder's offer that he didn't have to say anything, but he was sure his expression said it all, because Crowder grinned again, always that toothy grin, and sat down on the carpeted floor next to him.

"Now your face just screams at me that you don't believe what I'm sayin', and I ain't reprimandin' you for it. That might not be the whole truth. There might be some other things I'm involved in that don't need explainin' in a public book store. I ain't askin' you to trust me. Right now that would be a very stupid thing to do, and I think you know that, and you know enough 'bout me through late night prison talk to know that I ain't someone to easily be trusted, ever."

"But you are tryin' to ask me something."

"That's right, otherwise I wouldn't be talkin' to you. You're a smart guy, you know, son. I could use your skills. The obvious question here", he continued, putting a careful hand on Daniel's forearm when he opened his mouth to interrupt, "would be, what for? I'll tell you if you're up to comin' to Harlan to pay me a visit. To just have a nice chat, a drink in my cousin Johnny's bar, maybe I could borrow you a nice book. I'm halfway through 'The Handmaid's Tale', if you're interested."

Daniel furrowed his brow. He really didn't know what to make of this.

"It's okay, son, you don't have to answer now. Just think about it, will you? It's a two-and-a-half-hour drive to Harlan from here."

"I live in Oliver Springs" Daniel blurted.

"Well, that ain't far away, is it? Give it some thought. As soon as you're in Harlan, ask anyone and you'll know where to find me. Are you gon' buy that book?"

He pointed at "Nineteen-Eighty-four" which Daniel was still holding in his hands. He'd completely forgotten about it.

"Nah" he said, putting it back on the shelf. "Can't afford it."

"Then let me." Crowder took the worn paperback and stood.

"And don't worry, it ain't a bribe. Just a gift."

Daniel watched silently as Crowder went to pay for the book, and he saw the cashier smile at him when he said something to her. She winked at him, and Daniel wondered what it was about Boyd Crowder that made him so goddamned interesting. He couldn't deny that he felt some kind of pull to that man, like he was a planet with its own gravitation field that pulled anyone in who came close enough to talk to him.

Crowder returned and handed him the book and receipt. "There you go, son."

"Look" Daniel said, slowly and carefully, like he always did when he was about to start a sentence that consisted of more than five words at a time. "I don' want to be involved in no criminal shit you're pullin' up in Harlan. I was in for assault that wasn' even assault cause the guy started it and so had it comin', I ain't some criminal, is what I'm tryin' to say. I…" He faltered. "I like my peace."

And he did. Life wasn't spectacular, since he didn't have friends, and his job at a construction site seriously sucked, but at least no one stalked him or disowned him anymore, and he could come here and read completely undisturbed, and that was all he could really ask for. Sure, he couldn't buy the books. And getting up in the morning got harder for him. And he missed conversation. Not necessarily the talking part, but the listening. People hardly talked to him.

But that was the way life was. He hadn't really expected it to change when he'd entered Mr. K's today.

Boyd Crowder looked at him long with these sharp eyes he had. Then he put the book and receipt that Daniel had failed to take from his hands on the floor in front of him and said, "A peace that's truly permanent would be the same as a permanent war."

Daniel looked at him, stumped.

"It's a quote, from the book. George Orwell was a wise man, and it's a good book. You should read it."

Daniel took it. "Okay then."

Crowder nodded and smiled. "Okay then. You gon' tell me your name, son?"

"Daniel Duris."

"I'll be seein' you then, Daniel Duris."

And with that he pulled another book from the shelf, Daniel realized it had to be the book he'd looked at when he'd first walked up next to him, and turned to go pay for it, and then he was gone.

 

 

Daniel didn't quite know what he was doing here in Harlan County.

When he'd gotten home yesterday, it all seemed so far away. The old paperback copy of "Nineteen-Eighty-four" lying on his kitchen table was the only proof he had that he hadn't fallen asleep at Mr. K's and dreamt the whole conversation he'd had with a convicted felon and seriously dangerous criminal.

That night, he read the whole 342 pages of "Nineteen-Eighty-four", and the next day he called in sick for work and slept til noon. When he woke up he had already made up his mind, and he got into his old Sedan and drove the whole way up to Harlan, Kentucky.

And now Daniel was here and didn't know what he was doing. He'd asked some people where he could find Boyd Crowder, and like Crowder himself had said, they all gave him clear directions to Johnny Crowder's bar. He'd found it, too, easily enough, all he needed now was the courage to actually get out of the car and into the bar.

He saw two other cars in the parking lot: A really old light blue truck with a big truck bed, and a black town car. He wondered who these cars belonged to. The truck would go nicely with Crowder, he thought. Didn't look like the town car type, that man did.

Sighing, he got out of his car and approached the front door. He didn't know if he should knock, and decided against it, just tried the door. It opened.

" – shittin' me, Boyd. I know you told your guy Jimmy to rough him up. I know he's an asshole, but that was uncalled for."

"Raylan, as always, you completely misunderstand me. I didn' tell Jimmy to do shit, and Jimmy ain't roughin' up no one, at least not on my behalf. What the man does in his spare time, I couldn't tell you."

"Yeah, whatever. Just don't let it happen again. Hey, the hell are you?"

Boyd Crowder and the tall man with the cowboy hat whose name had to be Raylan finally noticed him. Daniel saw Crowder's face light up.

"Daniel!" he spread out his arms in a wide gesture. "I'm happy to see you! Welcome to my cousin Johnny's moderate establishment. You had little trouble findin' the way, I presume."

"'S alright." Daniel shrugged.

"I am mighty glad to hear." Crowder's grin almost split his face in half. "Well, why don't you come on in, get yourself comfortable over here", he pointed at a table in the middle of the bar room, where there were papers and books spread out on it. Daniel recognized the book on top of the stack. It was the one Crowder had bought for himself at Mr. K's yesterday. Now Daniel could finally read the cover: It was "Brave New World". He had to smile at that. Oh Brave New World that has such people in it, he thought to himself.

"But before you do that, I have to introduce you to US Deputy Marshal Raylan Givens", Boyd said. Daniel looked up and saw that the Marshal was regarding him with a big deal of suspiciousness. "Raylan, this is Daniel Duris. I met him yesterday at a book store, ain't that right?"

"Yeah" Daniel said and reached to shake the Marshal's hand.

"That so" Deputy Givens said slowly.

"Yeah."

"And what is it" the Deputy continued, not letting go of Daniel's hand, "exactly, that you… do?"

Daniel looked him in the eyes unflinchingly. They were almost as sharp and penetrating as Crowder's.

"I observe."


End file.
